


One rose is enough for the dawn

by Xyz0608



Category: Rogue One: A Star Wars Story (2016)
Genre: Beauty and the Beast AU, F/M, also Orson Krennic is a creep, but what else is new, but without any serious research so bear with me, eventual pining, pls dont hate me for this, set in 16th century France, spells and curses and enchantresses, totally self-indulgent
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-03
Updated: 2019-12-23
Packaged: 2020-04-07 00:16:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,114
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19073605
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xyz0608/pseuds/Xyz0608
Summary: It should be enough for Jyn, this life, with Papa, in peace and safety. Far away from the war that had racked the rest of their country; far enough away that their lives had continued on despite the bleeding and dying that had been taking place elsewhere in the world.It should be enough, but it wasn’t. Not when she dreamt of other lands and far away adventures, of traveling to all the places she’d read about in her books, and beyond.Your books make our small corner of the world seem big, she'd almost said. But she hadn't, because...She wanted more, far more than what they had planned for her.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So this is just. Completely self-indulgent.
> 
> I've always liked Beauty and the Beast -- mostly because I spent my entire childhood reading and feeling very alone as the only second grader who'd read The Lord of the Rings, so I related to Belle in many ways. I was re-watching it with a couple cousins, recently, and I just... idk, lately every movie I've watched has had the potential to be a rebelcaptain AU. But It just felt really inspired to write this one.
> 
> This fic is just for fun, so please don't think too hard about it, but... I still really, really hope you like it.

**Part I**

* * *

_Prologue_

 

Cassian Andor was the eldest child of his family, the only son of Jeron and Natalia Andor. He grew up on his family’s estate, a great stone manor surrounded by field and forest, raised in the warmth of his parents’ love, in the sunlight and the peace.

He was barely six years old when the war found them. And he could never forget the sight of his parent’s blood pooling across the chiseled stone floor.

But the image had faded a bit, after years of fighting. The pall of their deaths was lesser after witnessing countless others -- many orchestrated by his own hand, others simply the result of happenstance and the poor luck of fools.

Cassian Andor had hundreds of ghosts. But his parents were the very first; and even if his soul was beyond saving, irrevocably dirtied by his duties during the war, he had not forgotten the debt he owed.

It is the debt all children owe to their parents. That of a good life, and a respectful burial.

Cassian could not do the former for them, but he could at least achieve the latter.

 

 

 

_Once upon a time, in a castle in the midst of a great wood, an old woman came to the door begging for shelter from a storm in exchange for a single rose._

_She was turned away by the master of the manor, but not solely out of selfishness. For it was not a party that she had interrupted; but a funeral, for a family ripped apart by war._

_And grief is the master of many mistakes._

_And the old woman was no ordinary woman; she was an Enchantress, newly freed from the bonds that the Empire had placed upon her. But she had not wholly forgotten the violence that the Empire had taught her; she did not take well to being turned away by a rebel officer._

_And she was powerful._

_Seeing nothing but selfishness in the rebel’s actions, she revealed herself for what she was; and placed a spell upon every soul inside the manor’s walls. They took on the shape and figure of inanimate objects, changed from flesh and blood to metal and cogs._

_And for the master of the castle, she granted him the visage of a beast; the very same beast that she had perceived to be in his heart._

_There is no love in the world for monsters; and that was how she ensared him, caught in an unbreakable curse._

_If he could learn to love another, and earn their love in return by the time the last petal fell from the rose, then he could free himself and everyone else in the castle from the spell._

 

 

 

Cassian Andor was not a good man.

So even if the Enchantress had cursed him simply for refusing her shelter, he could not help but imagine that he deserved this, in some way.

But none of the others did. Not Kay, or Bodhi, who had been there simply because they considered him a friend; or the Guardians of the Whills, who had only been there to lay his parents to rest at one with the Force. Nor did any of the servants, who had returned for that one night to pay respects to Jeron and Natalia, who had always been good to them.

This was a penance, for his sins; for the killing and the lying, for all the times he donned an Imperial uniform and stayed stoic in the face of atrocity.

(His penance should not have been served on these people --  _good_ people, who hadn't commited even half the evils he had.)

He would break the spell for them, if he could. But his face had simply grown to match the foul, twisted thing that lived inside him; the face of a beast was simply an illustration of the assassin, and the spy.

The beast, in his face and in his mind, was a feral, vicious creature. And the longer he remained as it, the more it became a part of him.

There was very little hope, now. There were only a handful of petals left.

And who would choose to love a monster?

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Part II**

* * *

_Every day like the one before_

 

The sky was clear and cloudless, the sun bright and cheerful as Jyn poked her head out of her window. She could smell freshly made bread rising from the windows of the bakery down the street, could hear the plodding _clop_ of Old Man Kenobi’s tired wagon pony as it dragged bags of wheat from the Pontas’ farm to Lars’s mill.

It was a simple, well-worn routine, as predictable in its patterns as the setting of the sun.

Jyn hated it.

She felt so alone, in this simple town. The only life she’d ever known, and she felt as trapped as if she were bound behind the bars of Tarkin’s madhouse, held in place by the whispers and scorn of the rest of the townsfolk.

That was why she set out so early, just after sunrise. She clutched her borrowed book to her chest as she hurried to Saw Guerrera’s shop.

If she was quick about it, she could return home before the townsfolk were awake, and avoid the whispers that the sight of a girl with a book seemed to incite.

(Her mother had been much the same way, and Jyn tried to find solace in that thought, in the example of a vibrant woman that she had never had the chance to know. But the assurances of a dead woman did not always help when the mothers herded their children away from her, as if she were a plague with a danger of catching.)

It never mattered to Papa, of course. He had loved her Mama, with all of Lyra’s stubbornness and brilliance, and he had never expected Jyn to be any other way.

Monsieur Guerrera was stacking supplies on shelves in the far back when she entered, the bell above the door clanging to announce her arrival.

“Finished already? You were here just yesterday morning.”

“I couldn’t put it down,” Jyn laughed as she went to join Saw in the back, where a single bookshelf hid all the stories this town had to offer. “It is my favorite.”

“You’re welcome to take a new one, if you wish.”

Jyn felt a smile break over her face as she pulled a simple leather-bound volume from the shelf.

“You know what to tell your father and Krennic when you get back, _petite étoile_?”

“Papa is to take care and travel safe,” Jyn said immediately, “and Krennic is to go eat a donkey’s ass.”

(They both knew she'd never get to say those words to Krennic. But saying them aloud helped, somewhat.)

The rest of the town was awake and alive when Jyn stepped out of Monsieur Guerrera’s shop. There were boys walking in single file as they made their way to the schoolhouse, breadmakers and basketweavers and fishmongers who peddled their wares in the market-square.

Jyn kept her head down and pretended that she didn't notice the glares that followed her across town. She did not strain her ears to catch their whispers; she did not stop to acknowledge their staring.

Acknowledging it would change nothing.

It should be enough for Jyn, this life, with Papa, in peace and safety. Far away from the war that had racked the rest of their country; far enough away that their lives had continued on despite the bleeding and dying that had been taking place elsewhere in the world.

It should be enough, but it wasn’t. Not when she dreamt of other lands and far away adventures, of traveling to all the places she’d read about in her books, and beyond.

But it wasn’t as if she could just leave Papa on his own.

She turned the corner around Brom Titus’s store just in time to see Orson Krennic leaving her father’s workshop, his ivory waistcoat disgustingly clean in contrast to the rest of the village.

“Ah, mademoiselle Erso,” he said, his dead eyes lighting hollowly at the sight of her. He slowed his stride, clearly intending to linger and prolong their interaction. “So good to see you.”

“Monsieur Krennic,” Jyn forced a thin smile onto her face, hurrying past him and praying he would just let her go.

“And what have we here?” Krennic nimbly plucked her book from her grasp, and she had to stop. He flipped through it quickly before fixing her with a condescending frown. “A bit… scholarly, for a young woman to be spending all her time on, isn’t it?”

Jyn had to bite back the retort that sprang to the forefront of her mind, forcing herself to wait patiently instead of reclaiming her book by force. “It passes the time.”

“Surely there must be more important things for your to be spending your time on,” he started, fixing her with the kind of look that made her feel as if she was being valued for a price.

Jyn knew exactly where his thoughts lay in regards to her, and she did not care to tolerate them this day.

“May I have it back, now?” She asked, barely concealing the annoyance in her voice. She was so very tempted to repeat Saw’s words to him -- something she had never been able to do, much to her regret. As much as she hated the man he was one of Papa’s oldest friends, and one of the few in the village who could pay more than a couple coins’ worth for his work.

_Go eat a donkey’s ass, monsieur--_

A crash sounded from the direction of Papa’s workshop; and smoke started to rise from behind the building.

He ignored her demand, turning on his heel to stare at the dark cloud that emanated from Papa’s shop with a constipated glare. Jyn darted past him, quickly snatching the book from his hands as she went.

(He shouted something after her, but she ignored him. It was petty, but it was good for him; good for Orson Krennic to realize that he was only ever-so-important within his own wretched mind.)

She slammed the door behind her once she passed through, leaning back against it for a second. The clanging continued, not within the workshop as she initially thought; but rather out in the front of their cottage, where Papa had his latest innovation loaded onto the wagon.

“Are you alright, Stardust?” Papa asked as she walked up, concern etching its lines onto his face. “You know I won’t go if you need me here.”

“I’m fine, Papa. Promise.”

“If you’re sure,” he kissed her on the forehead once more before climbing into the seat of the carriage. “I don’t suppose there’s anything new I could get you?”

“I’d like another rose, Papa. Like in her name.”

(Lyra Rose. That had been her mother’s name, before she’d married Papa; and after that it had not changed, even though Jyn bore the name of Erso. Lyra had kept her maiden name, much to the chagrin of most others.)

(That was the name carved as a memorial into her kyber crystal, the one she’d strung around her neck since she was a child; for having it near always made it seem as if her Mama was watching over her.)

“Then a rose you shall have,” he promised, flicking the reins over their horse’s flanks. Jyn stood watching for a moment longer, until they had passed beyond the rise of the hill and out of sight.

Then she returned inside.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part II title is from "Belle"
> 
> _petite étoile_ is what google translate claims is French for "little star". I have no experience with the French language, so if that is wrong feel free to let me know
> 
> I've been working on this for about a month, but not chronologically; so I really don't know when I'll update
> 
> Thanks for reading <3


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I spent way too much time thinking up a name for Jyn and Galen's horse. It ended up being "Has", because Lucky Has Obluebitt was one of Jyn's childhood toys in canon. I figured Jyn started calling him that when she was little, and the name stuck.

 

 

**Part III**

* * *

_No matter what the pain, we’ve come this far_

 

 

The forest was bitterly cold, and Galen shivered even under the woolen cloak draped around his shoulders. The trees towered high above him, dark and threatening against a stormy gray sky.

He spoke softly to their gray gelding Has, gently urging him forward to a trot despite the growing trepidation in his gut.

(He did not care for wolves. They were mean, vicious beasts, more truly wild than nearly any other creature. It was perilous, to hear them so close.)

The wolves behind and around him were hungry, and angry. Their growls rolled loud and harsh through the air, causing the hairs on his neck to stand upright.

There was no time left for cajoling. Has took off, galloping over the uneven path. The wagon bounced on roots and stones, jarring his harness from its fastening after a particularly violent jolt and throwing Galen from the seat.

He landed on his back, in the snow -- _how is_ _there a half inch of snowfall, in the midst of summer?_ \-- and scrambled backwards, his frantic movements just barely keeping him out of range of the wolves’ snapping jaws.

Their eyes shone yellow, threatening in the dim light. Spittle dripped on their breath, fangs hanging past their lips in a snarl.

One of them lept at him, and Galen flinched. His back landed solidly against a hard, cold surface; he turned to find himself facing a squat stone wall, frost-covered and stretching on for as far as he could see.

There was a wrought-iron gate, set into the wall half a meter away from where the wolves had him cornered. Galen risked the teeth and claws to race past them, making for the gate and fumbling clumsily with the latch.

The baying stopped as soon as he passed through. The wolves stared at him through the finely wrought bars, circling, their yellow eyes glinting, before turning all as one and disappearing back into the undergrowth.

His footsteps made no sound as he passed through the courtyard, muffled by a thin blanket of new-fallen snow. Galen kept his cloak pulled tight around him, his eyes cast away from the hulking stone statues that seemed to loom out of the darkness.

He did pause upon seeing an ancient vine wrapping its way around several fallen pillars. There were a handful of blossoms still on the stem; perfect white roses, each petal silky smooth and without blemish.

_At the very least I will not disappoint you, stardust_ , Galen thought as he picked the flower, pricking his finger and drawing a small droplet of blood as he did so.

( _Ah, yes. He’d forgotten the thorns._ )

He kept the rose in hand as he raised his fist to knock. The door swung open of its own accord, dim flickering light welcoming him as he stepped over the threshold.

 

* * *

 

Jyn did not know Hadder Ponta all that well. She knew of him -- she had to, in a town as small as this -- but she could not recall ever exchanging more than passing greetings in the market.

She knew that Papa had helped his family when the mechanisms for their mill broke down. But even if the repairs had broken down after only two weeks -- which was unlikely, as Galen Erso was not a poor engineer -- it would do the Pontas no good to seek him out now, when he’d left for the fair nearly six hours ago.

He caught her outside, while she was scattering seed for chickens in the yard. It was a quick chore, thankfully, with the hot sun overhead -- and she’d done it every day since she was a little girl, as a way to help her Papa when he hadn’t any idea how to run a house on his own.

“Jyn?”

She smiled politely as she straightened and turned to Hadder, but faltered as soon as she saw the familiar piece of knitted cloth clutched in his hands.

( _It was Papa’s scarf. She’d made it for him, when she was little; she hadn’t been very good, and the stitching was uneven and slanted. But he’d loved it, and worn it nearly every day since she’d given it to him._ )

Papa’s scarf, that he’d had on this morning as he set out.

“Wait-- Where did you find that?” she asked, taking it from his hands. There were leaves caught amid the clumsy stitching, small damp patches and dirt tangled in the yarn.

“Your horse -- the gray gelding? I found him on the edge of the forest around noon. He’d broken out of his harness.”

“What about Papa?”

Hadder shook his head. “I saw no sign of your father.”

Fear gripped Jyn at his words, ice cold and hollow. There were dangers inherent in the forest, dangers she knew all too well, and she could not stop herself from imagining what might've happened to Papa to make Has spook and run.

It was undoubtedly rude to rush past Hadder without so much as a farewell, but she could not stop. To stop would be to give in to the fear, to the panic that already threatened to overwhelm her.

_(Being abandoned is the first lesson of living. This is how you learn not to rely on anyone apart from yourself.)_

Jyn did not look back as she passed through the walls to the village, did not let up her pace as she reached and passed under the dark canopy of the encroaching forest.

She had to find her father.

 

* * *

 

Bodhi Rook had served alongside Cassian Andor during the war, although in a different capacity. He was a pilot, sailing ships and smuggling cargo through enemy waters under the cover of night.

He had accompanied Cassian, when the spy had sought to return to his family’s lands. He had been there, when they incurred the wrath of the Enchantress.

He had taken his part of the curse, same as the rest. Had been changed so that he resembled a kettle more than the skinny brown-haired youth he had once been.

He alone had not given up hope, in the years since the spell was cast. Baze had never truly had any; and Chirrut was too busy getting lost inside his own mind to remind them to keep faith.

That was why he was the only one downstairs when the old man arrived.

At first he was unsure that what he saw -- a free, living person, the first to enter the castle since the Enchantress had visited all those nights ago -- was the truth, and not some hopeful dream; but then he saw the pale rose clutched in the man’s grasp and he quickly realized that what was to follow was more likely to resemble some kind of nightmare.

_The Beast was inordinately protective of those roses, even though Cassian did not enjoy killing_.

Still, he owed it to the unwitting traveler to try.

“Monsieur? Monsieur, you must leave!”

The gray-haired man whirled around, squinting in the dim light. His face was lined with worry and years, but the wrinkles around his eyes spoke of kindness.

“Who’s speaking?”

“Please!” Bodhi stepped forward, into the man’s view. The traveler’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of him, of a seemingly inanimate object given voice and movement. “You cannot remain here!”

“I… I need shelter, the wolves--”

"There are far worse things than wolves here, old man."

A deep growl, louder and stronger than even one of the great northern grizzlies, interrupted the man's plea. Bodhi cast about desperately for a place to conceal the traveler, but there was no corner to be found.

He could do nothing as the large, hulking silhouette stalked past him. _I tried,_ Bodhi thought, retreating hastily out of view as Cassian advanced threateningly toward the traveler.

_Force help me, but I tried._

The beast stalked toward the traveler, dark and threatening, causing the old man to shrink back in terror.

_There’s simply nothing to be done to stop this curse._

 

* * *

 

Cassian was so very tired of fighting.

The beast was angry. He’d always been protective of those roses, recognized that his own existence was tied to nearly the same thing. The old man had stolen just one, plucked it right off the vine; and then broken into the manor itself, to beg for shelter.

Cassian could feel the fury rising up inside him, feel the beast rising up with it. He felt the fur along his spine stand on end -- the monster in his head making itself and its aggression known.

_It had been so very long since the beast had an enemy to fight_.

He did not kill the old man. He had enough control over the feral thing in his mind to see to that.

He did not know much else of what he’d done.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Part IV**

* * *

_Easy to remember, harder to move on_

 

 

Jyn had never seen these paths before, and that troubled her. She knew these forests as well as anyone could -- had spent countless hours of her childhood wandering through them, eager to find new paths and unexplored streams.

The shattered remains of Papa’s wagon lay along a small, barely-used path that she could not for the life of her recall ever seeing before. She was not too eager to follow the muddled tracks that led away from the wreck -- for it had started to snow softly, as it was not supposed to in the midst of summer.

There was an uneasy feeling, around this unfamiliar part of the wood. Something warned her against continuing farther, away from the places she knew and closer to the cold winds and day-old wolves’ tracks.

But it wasn’t as if she could abandon Papa. To give up would be to give into the fear, and she could not afford to do that.

The trail grew wider the farther along it she passed, rough cobblestones starting to poke up from between leaves and dirt. She passed silently through the open gate, treading cautiously into the abandoned courtyard.

There was no one inside the manor, when she pushed the door open. No one called out to her as she stepped over the threshold, but there was a great fire burning merrily in the hearth.

_So there is someone here, then_.

A groan reached her ears, faint and dim as it echoed through the manor. She snatched up a light as she ran up the steps toward the source of the noise.

They looped endlessly as she climbed the tower, passing up flight after flight in search of the source of the noises. There were cells hewn into the tower, most of them empty save for dust and leaves; until she came to the very last one.

Jyn glimpsed a head of graying hair through the bars and ran the final few stairs, dropping down to grasp Galen's fingers through the barred door.

“Papa?”

“Stardust? Oh, Jyn, no. You shouldn't have come here.”

“Papa!” Jyn cried, feeling her fingers burn against the frozen metal bars. He was shivering, shaking from the cold. “Who did this to you?”

“Stardust, please. You need to go,” he gripped her hands tighter before pushing them away. “Quickly, before he comes back!”

“I’m not leaving you, Papa,” Jyn whispered, searching the outside of his cell for a latch. She found it, eventually -- a long lever connected to a chain, which would draw the bars up. 

A long, low growl interrupted just as she reached for the lever. It sounded like a wolf, or one of the great angry bears that Saw used to tell her stories about.

“Who’s there?” she demanded, abandoning the lever in favor of holding her lantern out in front of her, as if that would grant her any measure of defense. “Who are you?”

“I am the master of this castle,” the voice was low and rumbling. “Why did you come here?”

“I came to find my father.”

“Then you have no further business here,” it snarled, stepping close enough that she could make out a hulking form in the shadows.

(It was broad, and tall -- far too tall to be a human man.)

“I came to free him.”

“Your father stole something of great value from me. I do not welcome thieves to my house.”

That caught her off guard. Jyn had only ever known Papa to be truthful, to act with honor and dignity toward all life. Never in all her years did she once believe that he would have stolen anything that did not belong to him.

“It was just a rose, for chrissakes!” Galen called bitterly.

“And it was not yours to take!” the creature roared, stepping forward into the thin circle of light her lantern cast.

Jyn flinched backward despite herself, unprepared for the gruesome countenance that she was faced with.

His face was covered with thick brown fur; his snout was wide, his mouth fanged. Dark horns curved over his skull, poking out through a thick mane that covered the slight hunch in his back. He dodged her gaze but snarled at her staring, showing his pointed teeth.

Jyn did not allow herself to give in to the horror that threatened to choke her. Not when Papa needed her.

“I’m the reason he took it. I asked for the rose,” she said. Her voice sounded thin and weak, echoing faintly through the dungeon’s chambers. “Let him go.”

“I cannot do that.”

_Why not? You declared yourself the master of this castle not a moment ago._

“Stardust, Jyn, listen to me,” Galen whispered urgently. He traced his fingers along the line of her jaw, gently, tenderly. It felt far too much like good-bye. “I’m old. I’ve lived my life.”

_No, no, no_ , Jyn begged as she placed her hand over Papa’s. _Don’t leave, please_.

“You go on,” he coughed, his breaths hacking from the chill. “You go on. You live your life, and forget about me.”

Jyn didn't wait another moment before turning back to the beast. “He’s an old man.”

“He is.”

She could feel the monster’s eyes on her, feel him expecting her to turn away. And her survivor’s instinct urged her to do so; she could not absolve her father of his transgressions.

But she could not abandon him, either. He was her _father._

“If you…” she took a deep breath, steeling herself. “If you let him go, then I will stay behind and take his place.”

Galen cried frantically for her to stop, to change her mind, but Jyn ignored him. Her gaze was settled on the beast’s, staring and defiant.

Something strange passed through the back of his eyes. Jyn imagined it might have been respect; but she knew that it was far more likely to be mockery, for she doubted that a creature such as that would put much value on kindness.

“Done.”

The door to the cell swung open with a metallic clank, and Jyn rushed to embrace Papa one last time.

But he did not even allow her to say good-bye, this beast, simply snarled at her and dragged Papa away by the collar of his shirt.

The cell door slammed behind them, and it sounded like an ending.

She watched them through the bars until both forms had disappeared beyond the door at the base of the tower, and told herself that it was not so important, to be able to say good-bye.

Then she knelt on the cold stone floor within her cell, and tried to be strong.

 

* * *

 

The girl was either very brave or very foolish, to do such a thing for her father.

He could feel Bodhi’s gaze on him, and Kay’s, as he threw the old man out into the cold. He turned back from the courtyard, feeling a bitter snarl mar his face.

There was so little difference now, between himself and the beast. It was so very hard to hold on to what semblance of humanity he still possessed, and control the instincts that urged him toward violence and cruelty.

(But he tried. And it was not the sorrowful gazes of his friends that made him flee to the west wing, made him growl in anger at the Enchantress's wilting flower and nearly break a hole in the stone walls of the room.)

It was the defiant look of the girl, as she stepped forward to take her father's place.

There had been something in her eyes that spoke of a strange sort of strength. A kind of courage that drew its power from love for another.

Cassian Andor had not seen its like in years.

It made him pause, when he heard the telltale metallic clank of Kay's footsteps behind him.

"She shouldn't stay in the dungeon."

It was not Kay, but Bodhi, and Cassian closed his eyes in shame. He regretted the fact that anyone who'd followed him was caught within the Enchantress's spell, but he regretted Bodhi Rook perhaps most of all.

The cargo pilot was young, and despite enduring torture in Cadera that had ripped his mind to shreds, he'd been hopeful. He'd talked about the end of the war, about life afterwards. It was always more than Cassian had done; there was no end to the war for him, just enough time to return and bury his parents, and then he could turn to find the next enemy that threatened them.

Now he was as trapped in this castle as Cassian was, and the end of the war looked like endless days of winter and praying for a miracle that could save them from the rose.

"It was a foolish thing to do, sacrificing herself for her father like that," Cassian said, although it felt more like a question. And Bodhi answered it as one.

"She was brave."

_Yes, she was_ , he thought, and for once it was a notion entirely of his own. The beast was silent, for very nearly the first time since the petals started falling. _She was brave._ _She could--_

"She could break the spell," Bodhi said, and Cassian flinched.

Hope was a dangerous thing. It made men stupid. Made them fool themselves into believing in the impossible.

Cassian Andor did not make a habit of fooling himself.

"Give her a room," he growled, turning back to brood over the Enchantress's rose, protected from the world by a clear glass case. "But do not rely on her to save us."

He could remember the girl's defiant stare, yes, but he could also recall her face when he had stepped into the firelight. Horror had colored her features; and fear had made her brandish her lantern like a weapon, had made her brave in the face of revulsion.

_Courage and fear are siblings. You cannot have one without the other, and neither will survive long without the other one as its companion._

The girl had courage, and bravery. But fear is a powerful motivator, horror even more so; and love could have no place amongst any of them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part III title is from "No Matter What"
> 
> Part IV title is from "How Does a Moment Last Forever"
> 
> There's a lot of dialogue in this chapter, which is a part of writing that I've always struggled with. Please tell me what you thought!
> 
> I'm [starxdust22](starxdust22.tumblr.com) on tumblr


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm not dead.
> 
> It shouldn't be easier for me to find time to write when I'm supposed to be doing schoolwork, but here we are. I'm so sorry I haven't updated in almost two and a half months.
> 
> But it's a 3000-word update if that makes it any better

 

 

Part V

* * *

_Am I here for a day or forever?_

 

Jyn was not afraid, but she was cold. It was nearly midsummer in her village back home; the days were long, and warm, and while upon occasion it would rain she hadn’t expected anything worse than a light drizzle when she set out to find Papa.

The sun had just dipped below the horizon, throwing the world outside into the strange blueness that comes right before true dark, when the staff came to spring her from her cell.

She startled when the cell door swung open, surreptitiously reaching for the small wooden stool in the corner -- her only choice of weapon, save for bare stone walls.

“Mademoiselle?”

The voice that spoke was that of a man; but there was no man in sight. Instead, Jyn was greeted with a metal-wrought candelabra, closely followed by a kettle and a mantel-clock; and she could barely contain her disbelief as they moved across the stone floor, almost as if they were truly human in form.

(It should be no more shocking to see a candelabra speak than it had been to see the gruesome visage of the beast step into the light of her lantern. But somehow it was far more shocking, the former than the latter.)

“Mademoiselle, we mean you no harm. We simply wish to see if you would not be more comfortable with a proper room,” the candelabra was polite as it spoke, but Jyn was uneasy; for surely to leave her cell was to renege upon her bargain with the beast, and she could not risk Papa's freedom in that manner.

“I thought I was to stay here forever--"

“Forever is long enough without frost and cold stone digging into your back,” the gruff voice seemed to come from a mantle-clock, but one given the semblance of legs and arms. He nodded at her, gears turning within his face as he did so. “Your father is safe, little sister. Come with us, and take what semblance of comfort you can.”

She wanted to trust him -- trust that Papa was safe, that she had succeeded in keeping him free of the castle and the monster within -- and so she stood to leave; but she hesitated after a moment, unwilling to believe that the beast’s ruling toward her had changed so completely in so little time.

But it truly was cold-- even with her cloak pulled in as close as she could, she shivered from the chill of it--

(It had been hours since the beast had dragged Papa away; Jyn had to believe that he was home and safe by now, that she was alone in this castle ruled by monster who sought to keep her prisoner. She would not survive long enough to escape if her every movement was controlled by fear of what the beast could do to Papa.)

She hesitated only a moment longer before following them from the dungeons.

(It was not as if she had much more left to lose, by trusting them.)

 

* * *

 

The beast didn't like the girl. She made it angry.

It was taking everything Cassian had to hold on to whatever semblance of control he still possessed. There were no more paintings on the walls of the west wing, no more moth-eaten curtains draped across open windows; the beast had torn everything down in his fury, ripped them all to shreds in protest of keeping the girl alive and safe.

The only thing he’d managed to save from the beast’s wrath was the sole surviving portrait of his parents, that still hung unscathed on the wall. He could feel himself loosing control, could feel his faculties slipping into the fiery haze that was the beast’s mind; but he still refused to let the monster touch the one part of them he had left.

The winds blowing in from the forest were bitter, strong enough to rattle the glass covering of the rose; and he shivered even under the thick fur the Enchantress had gifted him. He couldn’t imagine how frigid the cells in the tower would be by now.

Even as the thought made the beast renew its assault upon his mind, Cassian hoped that the girl wasn’t shivering in the cold.

 

* * *

 

“--and here is your wardrobe. She’s been asleep for years, but I tell you, before the spell she was just the liveliest young socialite--”

The candelabra kept on, words spilling out of him like water from a spring even as the mantel-clock tried to hush him into silence. The kettle crept up beside them as well, and a candlestick stood at attention upon the windowsill; all four of them looked at Jyn expectantly as she tried to take in the room they claimed was to be hers.

The bed was large, and softer than anything Jyn could ever remember touching; and she sat on it. The embroidered covers shifted under her weight, beads and golden threads sparkling in the last remaining rays of sunlight.

There was even gold leaf upon the walls, set into the faded shapes of flowers and leaves; and the decoration was strangely beautiful even though it was clearly old.

Even the speaking objects looked ancient and worn, although that was hardly the most curious thing about them. They spoke like people, moved like people; and as they carried on chattering, almost childlike in their raucousness, Jyn found herself somewhat more at ease.

( _How is it so easy, to enter a castle and find within it a place of strange enchantments? In the world beyond one can scarcely speak to another living soul without losing all faith one once possessed.)_

She accepted a mug of tea when the kettle -- Bodhi -- offered it to her; she bowed politely as the candle, once a stern-faced soldier named Kay, took his leave to seek their master’s company.

She knew better, truly, than to trust anyone so soon, especially these animated objects who served her captor; but there was a kindness to the way they spoke, even the gruff mantel-clock, that led her to believe they shared trust and compassion beyond the normal ken.

After so long alone in a castle with a monster, they must have become a family of sorts. And so would she, if this truly was to be her home for the rest of her days.

_(This is not home. It cannot be.)_

There was a saying from her childhood -- perhaps it was a nursery rhyme, she could not remember -- that home was meant to be where the heart was.

It was foolish, perhaps, but her heart lay far away from her, with Papa and her chickens and the leatherbound books she borrowed from Saw. Her heart was there; and her home was with them, too.

Her home was not in a frost-encrusted manor, gray and cold and stone and ruled over by a merciless beast -- it could not be. He might be the master of his castle; but he was not powerful enough to keep her there forever, not now that she was free of her cell, not if she truly refused to do so.

_You’re a fool, master beast._

The curtains were long enough, surely; and even the bedspread, if she should need it. She could tie them, could climb out the window and be gone from this place before they were any the wiser.

She did not think that the beast would follow her out of the woods. If he had wanted to hurt anyone in town… surely he would have left this manor before today.

“What do you know of kyber crystals?”

Jyn froze for a moment, mug raised halfway to her lips, as the stone in question throbbed against her skin. Her mother’s necklace, the only thing save for her portrait and her name Papa had managed to save from the ruins of Paris.

She’d worn it every day since before she could even remember, its weight familiar and comforting around her neck; a constant reminder her of Mama, who had believed in the Force.

Who had believed, even when it resulted in her death.

“Don’t listen to this fool,” the timepiece -- Baze -- grumbled, coming to stand next to the candelabra. “He’d take a sock from a wolfhound and call it a squirrel.”

Jyn felt the corner of her mouth twitch upward at that. But the candelabra seemed unconcerned with Baze’s disparagement, instead extending one of its arms forward in an admirable imitation of a handshake.

“I’m Chirrut Imwe. Would you trade that necklace for a glimpse into your future?”

Jyn took the proffered arm and shook her head gently, ignoring the cold clenching in her gut at the thought of losing Lyra’s crystal. Anything she could not afford to lose was a weakness; but this was one weakness that she could not help but keep.

“Interesting,” Imwe murmured, managing to raise an eyebrow even when he was wrought of brass. “Captain Andor made the same choice when I offered him a trade for his family’s ring. Although I suppose one could argue he would have been better-advised to have taken the offer.”

She blinked in confusion for a moment; _Andor_ seemed to be familiar to her, for some reason that she could not tell, but her brows furrowed and it slipped away even as she drew closer to remembering.

“It is of no matter, then,” he laughed, already having moved on to another distraction. “Perhaps what you need is not a glimpse into your future but a glimpse into your home. Come along, and we -- well, I -- shall show you.”

Jyn didn't understand what he meant, not until Chirrut had clanked his way out her door and down the hall, Baze and Bodhi following just behind him. And once she did understand, she did not move to stand or follow them.

What she wanted right now, more than anything, was to be alone. To plan, and to rip apart the ridiculously embroidered draperies, and to escape.

She had no wish to spend hours traipsing through the empty, abandoned halls of a lonely castle. She tried to remain stubbornly seated upon her bed; but seeing the resignation of the other staff members to Chirrut’s antics, it appeared that she had no choice in the matter.

“I’m sorry,” Bodhi murmured, even as Chirrut continued to call through the doorway for them to keep up, “he’s very persistent.”

“The damn fool will keep speaking until you agree to the tour,” Baze grumbled tiredly even as Chirrut reappeared in the doorway to pester them in person once again, and Jyn finally capitulated.

(It could do her better, to escape in the night; once the staff were asleep, or at the very least no longer fascinated by the novelty of having her there with them.)

Jyn had to fight a smile at Chirrut’s crow of victory once she joined them in the hallway, and reminded herself for the umpteenth time that they were the servants of her captor. That they were yet another symbol of her imprisonment, of the freedom that she was lacking.

She was resolved. She would survive their tour, and escape from her room in the night; and she would leave this castle far enough away that she would never have to return again.

 

 

 

 

Part VI

* * *

_Now the wheels in my head have been turning_

 

Orson Krennic had been a part of the Imperial regime until the very end. He’d escaped, made his way to this backwater village; nearly the only place in the known world that had not heard tell of the terrible deeds the Empire had committed in the name of power and control.

The Empire was not dead, and the rebels were not victorious, despite all appearances. The efforts of Davits Draven and Mon Mothma were in vain; and once Galen had completed work on their machine, the rebels’ stint in power would come to an end.

That was the trouble, the root of the issue; and why he sat at the tavern this evening, nursing a strong ale and glaring at any other human who approached.

Galen wouldn’t focus on their project. He kept getting distracted -- taking days off to repair Old Man Kenobi’s innumerable cuckoo clocks, or wasting several weeks constructing a whole new kind of drainage for the Lars’ fields. Using his free moments to build inventions and then spending a weekend or several taking them to fairs and exhibitions.

Just as he had done this morning.

Distraction had never been a problem with Galen in the past. The Galen Erso he’d known in Paris had possessed a single-minded focus that he’d yet to find the like of in any other being; he had moved through life from obsession to obsession, only moving to a new one once he’d completely solved the puzzle of whatever had drawn his attention.

That was why Krennic should have realized the significance of Lyra Rose, back when Galen first returned from his search for kyber in the Pyrenees Mountains, absolutely besotted with the pretty young geologist.

He hadn’t recognized it, not back then. And because of that not only had he lost some of his hold over Galen; but the addition of Lyra had also turned into an addition of a child. The girl.

(He never could remember her name. Perhaps he should write it down, at some point; to give at least the appearance of being the caring uncle he professed to have become.)

He had tried to remove them, once, Galen's ill-advised family -- back when they still lived in a derelict windmill on the outskirts of Paris. The war was just beginning, back then; and the Empire needed Galen’s mind to furnish their army with more powerful weapons, to defend their authority over the land, not to become a farmer and stuff rags with goose-feathers so that his daughter could have another toy.

Killing Lyra was the only way to end the pacifism that had infected the great intellect of Galen Erso. The only way to turn him back to the path the Emperor needed him to pursue.

With Lyra dead, the child went missing. And for eight years, Galen returned somewhat to who had been before; a mindless academic, seeking to ignore the loss of his family by filling his days with the puzzles integral to connecting his crystals and his equations.

Until the girl resurfaced, and brought Galen to this backwater town. Where he’d insisted on remaining ever since, insisted on trying to be a better father than he was before. Insisted on letting his daughter distract him from the goal that he and Krennic had been working toward for countless years.

He needed to remove the distraction that was Galen’s daughter, and he needed to have done it yesterday.

It would be the simplest of all things, to have her killed. There were enough Imperial troopers still stationed at Tarkin’s madhouse to get the job done swiftly, and quickly enough that in the dead of night there would be no witnesses.

But he had barely allayed Galen’s suspicions of his involvement with Lyra’s death in Paris. Perhaps it could be enough to marry her off, or send her to some far-flung convent or university; but Krennic’s influence had shrunk in the years since the rebels’ partial victory, and even now it barely reached beyond the confines of this village.

That was why Orson Krennic sat alone in a tavern full of rowdy people, half-drunk and bitter. And he should have stayed that way, until he tired of noise and alcohol and returned to his place of residence, where he should have passed out full of vengeful thoughts that he would never be able to act upon.

And he would have done so, if Galen Erso had not burst into the room when he did, half-frozen with blood on his cloak and yelling of a vicious beast that had stolen his daughter.

As it was, Galen did burst in, telling the entirety of the town his tale of a huge monster pulled right from the land of fairie. And in a single moment, the entire town became convinced of his madness.

That was all the opportunity Orson Krennic required.

 

 

 

 

 

Part VII

* * *

_Is there no one who can show me how to win the world’s forgiveness?_

 

The castle must have been magnificent once, before the beast.

It was a strange wonderland of stone and gilded paintings, sweeping rooms and vaulted ceilings. The spires of the towers soared hundreds of feet over her head; and when the staff’s tour led them to climbing across the shingled roofs the ground was little more than a faint fog-covered haze below.

It could have been beautiful, if the gargoyles were not so vicious and the shingles not so damaged from years of perpetual snow and frost.

They were sliding down a slope of the roof to the balcony below when she caught just a glimpse of the western part of the castle.

It was colder, darker, snowier; the stones it was built from were crumbling. Icicles hung from the mouths of the gargoyles, as if the monsters had grown teeth hanging from their chins. The winds made the snow swirl faster around the spires and half-ruined balconies there, as if it was the center of the storm.

But the winds were not what caught her eye; for there was something bright and red shimmering on the very edge of a gaping ruin.

It was beautiful, though she could not see what it was save for its color. Deep and dark and scarlet, it drew her in and pulled the heat from the depths of her mother’s crystal, causing it to burn softly against her sternum.

She did not forget it, though it slipped out of sight a moment later as she landed abruptly on the frost-covered balcony next to Kay, Chirrut landing on top of her just seconds later.

But when she asked Bodhi about the west wing and the red object, he grew nervous. Kay claimed that the west portion of the manor was used for storage; and Chirrut tried to convince her that the western wing simply did not exist.

They were inside again by the time she found her opportunity, climbing the stairs in the entryway of the castle. The staff turned right, to lead her back to her room; but she lingered to stare at the left of the staircase, trying to see past the shadowed doorway and into what she was almost certain was the west wing.

“Surely there’s something else of more interest to you, little sister,” Baze grumbled, appearing behind her and drawing her attention away from the forbidden wing. “The… library, perhaps?”

“You have a library?” Jyn asked, whipping her head around, almost childlike in her excitement even though her mind had no let go the thought of the forbidden wing.

The few books that Saw had managed to collect had been the closest thing to a treasure she had ever imagined she would hold; and the thought of an entire room, filled with books full of stories that she wasn’t familiar with and couldn’t dream of yet made her nearly giddy.

“A _huge_ library,” Bodhi declared, leading them all back toward the safety of the east wing. “Full of books; old books, new books, books in languages even Cassian couldn’t understand…”

His voice trailed off, as Jyn dropped farther behind; but they didn't notice, Baze arguing with Chirrut and Kay stepping in to correct them from time to time.

They didn't notice, as she dropped away, and ducked quickly through the shadowed entry to the west wing.

It was dark enough that she could barely see; the hallway was barely illuminated by a handful of mostly-burnt candles mounted on the walls. She wandered farther, taking in the half-destroyed objects strewn about; the broken glass and crumbled stone that adorned the floor.

There was still gold leaf adorning every wall and pillar; but countless paintings had been ripped from the wall, ornate draperies shredded to pieces. There were still the trappings of wealth; but left to the winter for so many years, they had started to decay.

She could feel a faint heat pulse through her crystal, pulling her toward the farthest room; large and vaulted, with a wide balcony that left it open to the wind and snow.

Jyn glanced around, looking for any sign of life -- for the hulking shape of the beast, more than anything -- before passing over the threshold.

Her footsteps echoed hollowly on the stone floor, as she passed through, following the burning of her crystal and the curiosity in her mind; and as she brought her gaze up to survey the rest of the room, she saw the first painting.

It was the only one that remained on the wall, held up in a gilded golden frame. An olive-skinned man stood dressed in a deep crimson military uniform; his wife had one slim hand wrapped around his arm, and the other holding on to the young child that stood in front of both them -- no older than six or seven, he had all the appearances of being his father’s son, save for his eyes, which were the same amber-brown as the mother’s.

The stone was chipped and crumbling all around it, as if someone had tried to claw it off the walls; all the other paintings lay below them, half-shredded and barely recognizable.

Something crunched under her foot, and Jyn glanced down in surprise; only to see that she’d stepped upon another ruined painting.

It was portrait, this time, of a young man. He had the same skin as the father in the soldier’s garb, the same jutting cheekbones and sharp jawline; but his eyes were the same as the mother’s, although saddened and darkened with only the faintest hints of gold.

She went to pick it up -- for something in his eyes drew her in closer, something almost broken -- but the canvas was torn, ripped along three distinct paths, as if someone had taken a knife to destroy it, and it tore even further with her movements.

Something glimmered scarlet, in the corner of her eye; and she dropped the canvas back to its place on floor.

There was a single rose on the edge of the balcony, standing on its own and protected by an ornate glass cover. It had been nothing abnormal when she first entered; but now it shimmered a fiery crimson amid the softly falling slow.

She drew closer, reached her hand to touch the glass; and it burned with the cold. A petal fell from the edge of the flower at her movements; it grew brighter for a moment before crumbling into dust as it hit the stone table.

“Get away from there!”

The beast was a dark blur looming in front of her, growling, dragging her from the rose. He forced her away, turning back to the rose, checking it as if for damage.

Then he whirled to snarl at her, all humanity gone from his eyes and replaced with a vicious, feral anger.

“What the hell were you thinking? You could have damned us all!”

He advanced on her, looming, and she backed away until she could feel the cold stone of the wall seep through the thin cotton she wore. He looked terrifying -- his fur standing straight on end, his lips drawn back to reveal vicious fangs.

He looked like a beast, in that moment, more than he ever had in the dungeon. She looked into his eyes and there was no amber, no humanity; there was simply monster and anger and darkness.

Jyn was unprepared for the sharp crack of breaking stone, and the absolute terror that consumed her a moment later, when the beast slammed a clawed hand into the wall beside her head.

She could not remember running, but she must have; for one moment she was frozen against the wall, and the next she was fleeing through the hallways of the west wing. She glanced back, for briefest of moments; and her heart was trying to beat its way out of her chest with the sudden surge of panic that overtook her as he stared back.

His eyes were flinty, hard with anger; there was no depth to them, no knowledge or civility. She was looking at a different creature than the one she had confronted in the dungeon, a truly wild beast that she had little defense against.

Something in her bloodstream made her every nerve hypersensitive as she fled, racing through the corridors of the manor without rhyme or reason, every thought in her mind burned down to the simple instinct to get as far away from the beast as she possibly could.

(There were wolves in the forest at night, but wolves were a known danger. Wolves she could fight; but even the years she had spent with Saw after her mother's death could not prepare her to fight against an enchanted monster straight from the depths of childhood's fears.)

She did not even register the heavy oak door that she pushed past, nor the bitter cold that bit her skin outside. It was not until she scaled the squat stone wall surrounding the castle's grounds and dropped to the ground on the other side that she stopped to breathe; stopped to think, to realize, to shiver from fear and the cold dampness of falling snow.

She was still standing there when the wolves found her.

 

* * *

 

He couldn’t remember, for a few moments after he finally wrested control from the beast; and then suddenly he could.

Her shadow, blocking the light from the rose; anger, hatred; and her eyes, green and gold and wide and terrified as he loomed over her.

She ran away, in fear; and he had no delusions that she had remained in the castle, after the beast nearly killed her.

It made him sick. It made him cold, deep inside; somewhere that he was sure had been destroyed, but perhaps the beast had simply not yet managed to find quite yet.

Perhaps he would have felt a surge of hopelessness, if he had dared to hope for freedom in the first place as Bodhi did; but he had never truly believed that this girl could save his friends from this curse.

He had never truly believed that there would be any end to this, save for the crumbling of the last rose-petal and his own final damnation; the appearance of a girl had done nothing to change that, for if he had barely enough control to speak as a man and not a beast then surely he could not manage to win the affections of any other.

There was no more despair than there had been on any other day since the Enchantress cursed him; for the guilt that churned in his gut for failing his friends was no new feeling.

And if he held on to the guilt longer this time, kept it close; kept it sharp, like a knife slicing his palm, then it was because he used it to pry his focus away from the beast. It had nothing to do with the loathing in his gut that _hurt_ every time he remembered the girl's terrified eyes.

At that thought, his mind cleared, finally, of the feral haze that the beast had swamped him in. For the second time in as many nights, his mind was truly free of the monster's thoughts.

All he could hear was the roaring of the wolves in the forest around him; they sounded as if they had set upon a hunt.

It took far too long for him to understand what that meant; that the hunt was for the girl. That she had fled in fear and been driven right to the heart of the pack. Terror seized him, in that moment; not for himself, but for her. And even the best efforts of the beast could not stop him from going after her.

Cassian Andor had lost count of the sacrifices he'd made for the rebellion, but he refused to have this girl's blood stain his hands.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I really hope you liked it?
> 
> I don't feel great about writing Beast-Cassian; thankfully Actual Cassian will be making appearances in the next couple chapters, as he and Jyn start to actually develop a relationship rather than just running around the same castle with different angsty backstories :P
> 
> Part V title is from "Home" (an AMAZING song from the broadway musical, go listen to it!)  
> Part VI title is from "Gaston"  
> Part VII title Is from "How Long Can This Go On"


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did some research (?!?!) and finally figured a timeline: Lyra died in 1668 when Jyn was eight; so Jyn is nineteen in 1679, when the main story takes place. Galen worked for the Empire from 1668 to 1676, during which time Jyn lived with Saw's band of revolutionaries; the war ended in 1676, Galen defected, and everyone somehow settled in the same small village. 
> 
> I'm sorry this took so long, but I really struggled with this part of the fic, and it's still... not perfect. Someday I will update this story on a regular schedule, and maybe on that day my updates won't be 4,000 words long. But, ~~unfortunately~~ , today is not that day
> 
> Enjoy!

  
  
  


**Part IX**

* * *

_Careless and unthinking, I moved onward_

 

Baze Malbus was not a fool, and he was not so easily distracted.

The girl had been clever, to sneak away. And he had let her, because unlike the rest of the souls trapped here with him, he understood her. 

She could be their savior, or she could not be; but that was up to her and the Captain, and no one else had any power over the way events would unfold. Holding her captive here against her will was not going to lead to love; and hiding the evil in this castle was not going to cure her of curiosity.

He did not have true hope of release from the spell, not from the girl, not in the same way that Bodhi did; but he did believe.

Not in the Force -- not after everything, not anymore -- nor, perhaps, in any other power that was beyond the proof of his down eyes.

And yet, despite his doubt, and cynicism, it was still there.

Despite it all, his belief persisted. 

This girl could be the one -- if Chirrut would stop meddling and just allow her and the Captain the space they needed to grow into each other.

Perhaps, someday, this nightmare could end. 

 

* * *

 

The wolves set upon her as soon as she entered the woods, with a kind of fervor that was unique to wild creatures. They loped easily through the woods, baying gleefully at having new prey to torment; and their yellow eyes glimmered with malice between the trees. 

Jyn had no realistic hope of outrunning them; but she tried to regardless, racing ahead as quickly as she could manage, slipping, her boots unable to find proper traction in the snow and leaves that littered the forest floor. 

They finally cornered her on a frozen stream, with her back to a rocky outcropping. She turned when she realized that she was trapped, casting around desperately for any kind of weapon.

She didn't even notice the thick oak branches lying along the bank until a russet-furred wolf lunged forward and her hand closed around the rough bark, swinging it around to bat the wolf across the snout and send it tumbling away from her.

(It was heavier than her truncheons, but not by too much. The balance was off, and there was no handle, but-- it was achingly familiar nonetheless, and she could almost hear the echo of Saw’s voice shouting at her to _stop thinking, dammit, and pay attention_.)

She had no time to marvel, for a great gray creature had run up to replace the russet-furred wolf, and she just barely brought her makeshift weapon up in time to fend off another onslaught of fangs and claws. 

And then she was turning again, dodging again away from growls and teeth; but eventually their snarling faded from the forefront of her mind and their movements settled into a pattern, and she felt herself shift into that pattern with them. 

Jyn could feel her muscles burn with every movement she made, but it felt _good._  

It felt so very good, to be caught up within the rhythm of battle. 

She hardly even noticed the space between herself and the solid riverbank, until the wolves had her back pressed against it with nowhere else to run. Even that -- even the increased frenzy of the pack, yipping and excited for her blood -- could not pull her from the rhythm. 

A growling came from above her, on the outcrop, and she braced herself for more of the pack to descend upon her position; but the new onslaught of enemies never came.

Something crashed onto the ice before her; it was dark and cloaked, and the wolves backed away in momentary fear as it bore down upon them.

_The beast ._

 

* * *

  
  


He could see the girl clearly, although the light of the forest was dim; but he could think as well, and he did not know which miracle was the greater.

That he had found her, or that he had sense enough to help her.

There were nearly a dozen wolves spread across the frozen riverbed -- two of them lay prostrate at the feet of the girl, and he would have marveled at the strength of her blows had the pack not recovered so quickly from the shock of his arrival.

They knew him well, from the early days of the curse; from when he would run into the forest, try and flee in the hopes that it would draw the spell away from the manor and those friends that he’d trapped there with him. The forest pack knew how to hunt him, knew how his strength gave him an advantage that was not without its own weaknesses.

Cassian knew them as well, the wolves that the Enchantress had placed there as his jail-keepers; he knew that even as he batted them away, even as a gray wolf ran off to lick its wounds and a white one fell through the ice with the force of his throw, they could not be beaten; for they were not monsters of natural creation.

They were like him, in far too many ways; and that shared ferality, the mind of the beast, was what allowed him to hold them where they stood. 

He could feel the haze settle over him again, as he fought and the wolves fell one by one; but then he remembered the girl, hoped that she had fled at his distraction, and it was as if the sun had come to clear the fog.

His movements in this battle were the beast’s, but his thoughts were his own, and that was enough.

And then he felt claws sinking into his flesh, ripping into his shoulders through the thick layers of fur that the Enchantress had gifted him, and he hoped the girl had managed her escape. 

He crumpled to his knees despite himself, cursed himself for his weakness even as he growled threateningly and felt the wolf grip deeper into his back in response.

His muscles tore and his spine bent under the weight of the wolf. 

It hurt like hell.

 

* * *

 

The beast was nearly as tall as one of the great bears that Saw claimed to have hunted, and yet Jyn’s mind held no more concern for him as they fought then it did for the snow their movements knocked from overhanging branches.

He fit seamlessly into the rhythm of her swings, his movements shifting her pattern but not disrupting it; and that should have scared her, but it did not. 

She paid it no mind, just as she paid no mind to the cries of the wolves that were thrown aside. She hadn’t had an enemy to fight against since she was sixteen, and there was no high that could compare to the one she’d found in this battle, or any other. 

And then he lost the rhythm. The beast froze, and Jyn did not realize until she was halfway across the river, and he was still by the far bank and surrounded by wolves; and Saw’s voice spoke up in her head. 

 _This is your chance_.

_You can escape now, while the monster cannot stop you._

The beast howled in pain when the snout-scarred wolf lept onto his back, digging claws through fur and into flesh in order to maintain a grip.

_You bear no responsibility for the survival of a monster. You can be free._

_Run. Go. Be free._

Jyn wasn’t even aware of time lapsing before she moved, and then she was in the midst of the fray. She swung her branch hard, slamming it into the spine of the clinging wolf; he fell from the beast’s back with a squeal, and lay still. 

She could not explain it, could not put logic or reason to her actions; but the branch was lighter than ever in her hands and the thrill of battle was singing through her veins, and--

_(fight.)_

It was far too easy to fall into this fight again, to dodge under the beast’s blows and smack the wolves from his blind spots; to feel his fur tickling the bare skin of her arms as he placed himself between her and a wolf’s frothing fangs. 

They whirled and turned, lashing out with claw and branch as they beat the wolves in tandem. There was a visceral kind of connection between them; an understanding that didn't break even when Jyn left his side to chase the routed wolves from the edge of the frozen river.

_(fight.)_

She was free, then; the beast was behind her and there was nothing else, not even wolves, between Jyn and her escape. She could go. 

_Run now, you fool; before he forces you to go back._

 

* * *

 

There was something burning all along Cassian’s back. His skin felt as if it had been shredded; and something warm dripped from the cuts, rolling in fevered rivulets through his fur.

The girl was still somewhere. She’d been nearby, but she’d… gone and…

There was…

_Sky?_

(There were clouds in front of his eyes, dark tree branches cutting across his view. There was green; deep and shadowed and golden against the pale winter colors of the forest.)

But the burning of his back was throbbing now, screaming now louder than even the beast in his mind, and the sky above him was getting dark--

 

* * *

 

“I won’t go back.”

Her voice sounded clear and flinty, loud enough to carry across the expanse of riverbank that stood between them; or at the very least she had to hope it did. The forest was deathly silent, now that the wolves had run. 

The beast simply stared at her, unhearing, his eyes glazed and unseeing before he fell.

He pitched forward, slowly crumpling to his knees before collapsing entirely onto his back. The snow beneath him grew rosy, then became stained with a darker red as she watched.

 _Go, run, be free,_ Saw still insisted. _Escape_ , he cried, but his voice in her mind was weaker now.

There was something surprisingly calm, about how quickly the beast’s blood spread a crimson stain across the ice. It was silent and soft; and the wind was viciously cold now that the sun was fading.

_(escape.)_

Her cloak bundled tight against his wounds did precious little to staunch the blood; so she shifted her oak branch to her left hand, pulling his arm over her shoulder as she prepared to take his weight. 

His eyes were open when she turned back to face him, albeit clouded from pain and blood loss. They seemed to focus somewhat as she leaned closer, trying to speak to him through the fog of pain.

“I need you to stand.”

He must have understood, for he gathered his legs underneath him, and she took enough of his weight on herself that her shoulders shook under the strain.

They trudged back to the manor together, against her every well-trained survival instinct; and they left behind only a faint trail of blood-red droplets to prove that they had ventured into the wood at all.   
  
  
  
  
  
  


**Part X**

* * *

_stronger now but still not free_

 

 

The staff were standing ready at the door when the girl staggered out of the woods with the Captain leaning on her shoulder, blood already soaking through the thin cloth tied around his back.

Kay Tuesso had been transformed into a candlestick by the Enchantress -- and rightly so, for no other piece of cutlery could so perfectly encapsulate his incredibly stiff demeanor -- but even he could feel the chill that seemed to sweep into the castle when the beast was injured.

It was as if the entire manor knew that it had taken another step closer to death.

Perhaps there would have been more panic, if this had been the first time that the wolves had inflicted such damage. Perhaps it would have been like that first time -- Bodhi pale and trembling, Chirrut praying in a low, incessant mantra, while Baze and Kay tried everything they knew to stop the bleeding.

But this was not the first time, or even the second, that Cassian had run into the woods; for he was young and angry when he’d been sentenced by the Enchantress, with far more ghosts and scars than anyone had any right to bear. 

He’d visited the wolves far too many times to count, and never once had he returned without bloodshed. 

They moved through the room with practiced ease once the girl laid him down, Chirrut and Baze working in tandem to stem the blood as Kay fought to keep Cassian from thrashing their efforts to shreds.

(Bodhi remained outside, his worry palpable even through the solid oak door. Despite his best efforts, the pilot still didn't take well to the presence of blood, even all these years after the war ended.)

But this time, the routine was off; the room had shifted. The girl was there, now, to hold Cassian down by the shoulders, leaving Kay little else to do but stand and watch.

But Kay didn't watch Cassian. He’d already done that for far longer than was even remotely interesting; there were very few things the Captain could do that would truly shock him, and less than a handful that Cassian would ever actually consider doing.

No, instead Kay watched _her_.

He watched as her dark hair fell from behind her ear as she leaned over and she neglected to push it away; he watched her fingers stroke softly along Cassian’s arm  when it came time for Chirrut to apply a stinging salve; and he could not miss the quick, assessing movements of her eyes when the tired Guardians finally finished, ensuring that there was no other work to be done before she finally relaxed. 

Kay Tuesso saw the flint and iron in her gaze, the abject stubbornness as she remained in the room despite the late hour, despite everyone’s thoughts and Chirrut’s urgings to the contrary.

He saw her sit herself down in a never-used chair to wait with them, somehow with a book in her hand though there was no way she had found the library already, and he finally understood. 

They were halfway to the end the moment she set foot in the manor. It would be her, or no one; although there was no way that anyone who was not Kay Tuesso could have figured that quite yet. 

Cassian Andor never stood a chance against this girl.

 

* * *

 

In Cassian’s mind, it was dark and it was cold, and both of those were far preferable to the burning of his back or the heated fury of the beast’s mind.

It wasn’t until he saw the pale, unmoving face of his mother, and then his father, that he wished to return to his other, living hell.

He might have screamed at the sight, or he might have frozen; but there was no one left alive in the darkness to tell either way. 

 

* * *

 

The staff stayed with the beast well into the night, and for the duration of the following day. 

He would wake up sometime during the second day, they said. And by the day after his wounds would have healed entirely.

Such was his nature, apparently.

This would have been the perfect time to make her escape; when the only member of this manor’s household with the ability to stop her was unconscious and unable to do so. She could run into the woods again, and make it out this time; it was not as if a candelabra would be able to keep pace with her.

And there was a part of her that wanted nothing more than to do that; the part that survived, always, that was still sixteen years old and listening to Saw Gerrera teach her how to live where her mother did not. That part of her would have left the beast to bleed out on the river, and made her escape while the wolves were vanquished.

_Run. Escape. Live, while you still can._

She couldn’t.

It felt… wrong, somehow, to leave before the beast woke up; not when he had just saved her life, on the riverbank. The thought of doing so left her unsettled; but the thought of remaining in the manor, in captivity once again, left her more than uneasy.

There was no simple answer; no option that left her without a shifting uncertainty in her gut. This manor had gotten into her mind, and she was left with no answers and a cold weight in her heart. 

So she read. 

The books stacked in the beast’s room were old and worn, the pages crinkled with age but clearly well-loved. Some of them were thick and heavy, full of drawings and diagrams and dissertations on science and mathematics; but others were smaller and lighter, and it was in one such book that she found writings.

They were mostly incomprehensible scribbles and simple words -- the chicken-scratch handwriting of a child still learning to hold their pen steady; but as she flipped through different books, the scribbles developed into a trained hand. 

As she read, she found lengthier notes, that analyzed the work and the characters as they developed. Those notes made her think; but she preferred the cramped ones, more expressions of boredom and outrage scribbled down than an annotation of the actual work. 

Those notes almost made her laugh, although it did not seem so appropriate to find mirth when sitting in the sickroom of a monster pulled from the realm of nightmare surrounded by a handful of personified cutlery.

The very last book she found was the most worn, but the letters impressed upon the spine had not yet faded; Jyn had never heard of _Lazarillo de Tormes_ , just as she had never heard of many other books that she’d found in the manor, but she opened it nonetheless, hoping to discover what story it contained, that merited such great use. 

She was not prepared for the unfamiliar words that marched across the page; they were not English or French, or any other language that she knew enough to recognize. Jyn thought perhaps that they bore some resemblance to the Catalonian that Maia's mother had taught her; but she could not remember enough to be certain.

Perhaps she would have closed the novel then and there were it not for a single sheaf of white paper that stuck out from the rest of the binding.

The sheaf itself was blank, but it marked a page in the very beginning of the book; and someone had written in the margins -- but it was not the shaky scrawl of a young child.

This handwriting was steady and smooth, more curved and delicate than any of the other notes; but it was the words that caught her attention, that made her tilt the book on its side so that she could read them more carefully.

_How many there must be in the world who flee from others because they do not see themselves._

She could understand no more than that, for the rest of the novel was written in that other language, and however long she stared at the strange, printed words, she could not make any sense of them at all. 

So she made to put aside _Lazarillo de Tormes_ , choosing instead the familiar comfort of _The Winter’s Tale_ to put the haunting quote from her mind;and she read it aloud to the staff in an attempt to further distract herself from her unease. 

_(they do not see themselves.)_

 

* * *

 

He was aware, suddenly, but not conscious; and he was certain for a moment that he was dead. It was dark and cold and silent; and he could feel nothing at all, even with the pale faces of his parents so close. 

“Lawn as white as driven snow.”

The voice echoed in the dark, tugged at him, trying to pull him away from both the shrouded bodies of his parents and the stark cold that had infected his bones. His blood wasn’t moving, his chest wasn’t shifting; he was frozen and stagnant, trapped down to the marrow of his bones in this dead place, but that voice sent a shock of warmth through him.

The beast in his mind wanted him to stay in the dark, but there was no rage left even within it. There was just the cold, his parents, and the half-familiar voice awakening him. 

_\--I won’t go back--_

Even the beast couldn’t keep him from following the voice, drawing closer and closer to the surface of his consciousness until he could finally feel.

“Cyprus black as ever was crow.”

His eyes flew open, and his blood was warm again in his veins; his chest could move, his muscles twitch, and the shrouded bodies of his parents were nowhere in sight. For a single, glorious moment, all he felt was _alive_ ; and then he growled in the back of his throat, and his heart sank as he felt once again the fangs and fur that the curse had gifted him.

He was still bound by the sinew of a beast, rather than a man; but he knew that this living hell was far preferable to the dead one. 

“And gloves as sweet as damask roses."

He knew that voice -- he could remember, now, without the cold -- and he shifted, shuffling in the covers on the bed as he tried to shift onto his side.

The girl was seated in an armchair, in the near corner of the room, with one of his father’s books propped open on her lap; and the rest of the staff were arrayed around her as she read aloud. 

_She stayed._

Cassian was half-certain for a moment that he had simply entered another level of fevered dreaming -- for why would she stay, if she had the choice to leave and the agency to do it? -- until Chirrut’s arm started to dig most uncomfortably into his side.

That forced him to confront the fact that he was indeed awake. 

She glanced up from her reading for a moment, and her gaze fell on his conscious form; he saw her eyes widen when she realized he was awake, saw her glance uncertainly at the book laid upon her lap, as if fearing he would make her give it up. 

“ _Th_ _e Winter’s Tale_ isn’t one of his best known plays,” he growled, his tongue thick and heavy from disuse and his head swimming as he finally managed to pull himself into an upright position. The heads of the rest of the staff swiveled around almost in unison at the sound of his voice. 

“You know Shakespeare well?” she asked, and her voice now was much like it had been in his fever dream; cool and calm and pulling his focus away. 

“I had an expensive education,” he muttered with no small irony, as he finally pulled himself to sit upright on the bed, and he supposed it was true enough; although the expense had ended when his parents died.

Cassian could still remember those early months, when he had gripped his father’s favorite book tight and read it over every evening, terrified that with his parents gone and only Draven for company he would forget the Castellan words that they had so loved to teach him. 

The true difference was that his later education -- how to lie, how to steal, how to pass through a crowd of unwitting Imperial soldiers and emerge not only with their money and their secrets, but with his own life -- was born of necessity rather than choice.

“And I had an eccentric bookseller with peculiar taste, but it does not seem to have done any harm.”

“Sometimes eccentricity is an admirable trait, I suppose,” Cassian replied, trying to ignore how he wobbled when he stood, but at least his back did not scream in protest even when he grabbed the window’s sill for support -- it seemed his luck had held, and the curse had healed him.

That was some good, at least.

“And sometimes I wished for reading material beyond _Paradise Lost_ and a handful of Shakespeare's most obscure works,” she said, glancing down before meeting his gaze again. “But such is the choice literary collection of an eccentric mind.”

“You’ve seen our library; there’s far more books than that in this manor,” he growled, his frustration not intended for the girl but for gravity, receding only as he finally regained his balance. “You’re welcome to whatever you wish.”

“I... haven’t seen the library?” her voice rose slightly at the end, turning the statement into more of a question than anything else. 

Cassian furrowed his brows, turning to question Chirrut -- the library took up a decent space in the manor, one would have had to climb over the roofs to avoid passing it on his “tour” -- but the candelabra was turned distinctly away, lost deep in conversation with Bodhi.

 _She hasn't seen the library. Show it to her_.

Those sounded suspiciously like Chirrut's thoughts; for in the Guardian's hopeful mind, there was no harm to be found in trying to end the curse. There was no issue of guilt, or deserving this fate; for he did not, even if it could be argued that Cassian did.

The girl did not owe them salvation. The beast had kept her prisoner here -- had turned the wolves against her, so that it would be unlikely that she could ever leave -- but simply because she had become somewhat damned alongside them did not mean that she deserved to be a pawn in the Enchantress's game.

 _But she hasn’t seen the library_ , he thought, _and she wants to._ Perhaps that was what caused him to forgo everything Draven had taught him, to say his next words without truly thinking them through.

“Would you like to?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos if you made it through this monster of an update, and I do hope you liked it!  
> So... action scenes are NOT my forte, and for some reason I had a lot of writer's block when it came to getting Cassian to wake up and talk to Jyn, so writing part X was actually a bit like pulling teeth. I'm not 100% happy with this, but I would still love to know what you thought :D
> 
> Part IX title is from "If I Can't Love Her" (musical)  
> Part X title is from "Days in the Sun" (movie)
> 
>  _Lazarillo de Tormes_ is a book anonymously published in Spain in 1554 that I have never read. It is famous for not only containing anticlerical content during a time of Catholic authority in Spain, but also for creating the _picaresque_ satirical novel, a genre of writing in which injustice is exposed while amusing the reader.
> 
>  _The Winter's Tale,_ is one of Shakespeare's plays published in the First Folio (1623), after the bard's death.

**Author's Note:**

> ...I hope I didn't mess that up too badly?
> 
> comments and kudos mean the world to me; I'm on tumblr as  
> [starxdust22](starxdust22.tumblr.com)


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